


the gift

by ProtoDan



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alive Yone, Before Everything In Yas's Life Goes To Shit, Brother Feels, Brotherly Love, Gen, POV Second Person, Smol Yasuo, brother no longer looks like a word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:28:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoDan/pseuds/ProtoDan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This morning you woke to sweetcakes at your bedside and the promise of a spar outside. So you took up your bamboo sword and you wailed on your poor, tired brother, completely ignoring his critiques and instructions in favor of trying to beat the everliving hell out of him. It didn’t work, but it was the best spar you’ve ever had with him. <br/>It is your birthday today, and so whatever he is hiding from you must be something wonderful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the gift

“Stay here,” your brother’s voice commands. His voice is firm, strong. Confident, but not  brash—not like yours. It rumbles deep in his chest, and your croaking, squeaky tones envy that reverb so. “And close your eyes,” he adds, a smile on his lips.

You obey, going so far as to put your hands over your eyes with a quiet, conspiratorial giggle. His hand touches your scalp, ruffling your already wild hair. And then he is gone, his soft footsteps plodding slowly away into one of the back rooms. You listen carefully, but hear no real clues as to what his intentions are.

But it is your birthday today. This morning you woke to sweetcakes at your bedside and the promise of a spar outside. So you took up your bamboo sword and you wailed on your poor, tired brother, completely ignoring his critiques and instructions in favor of trying to beat the everliving hell out of him. It didn’t work, but it was the best spar you’ve ever had with him.

It is your birthday today, and so whatever he is hiding from you must be something wonderful.

His footsteps are getting closer again. You sit up a little straighter, your legs bouncing with excitement. He laughs, and you expect him to pat you on the head again out of amusement, but instead, he speaks.

“You can open your eyes now, little brother.”

Immediately, you open them, thrilled at whatever surprise awaits you. He stands above you, a long, slender object held in both hands, wrapped in plain parchment and tied with colored string. There is a grin on his face, lighting his ordinarily stern and somber eyes. You stare at the object, then up at him, and back at the object again before reaching out to take it.

Gods, but it’s heavy. Your brother laughs, and there, _there’s_ that pat on the head. You lay the gift down across your knees as you peel the thin parchment from it, barely daring to breathe. Inside is the most beautiful thing you have ever seen. A katana, the length of your entire body, sheathed in steel and navy. At the end of the hilt is a gust of wind forged from steel, a cloud at the crossguard and wisping gently along the sheath. Just looking at it takes your breath away.

“I know it’s a bit big for you,” your brother says. You look away from the blade to see him grinning as he sits down beside you. “But you’ll grow into it, I promise. It’s a magnificent blade,” he continues, tracing a fingertip down the sheath, “forged by the most skilled artisans I could afford.” (He does not tell you how he afforded it, how he skipped meals to save up while still letting you eat your ravenous fill. You learn that later, when you are old enough to realize how much of a burden you could be on him.)

You try to lift it off your lap, to unsheathe it, but just that short attempt makes your arms ache, and you glare at it in frustration. Your brother chuckles, touching your shoulder in silent encouragement.

“It will grow lighter as you grow stronger, don’t worry,” he assures you. “I have absolute faith that you will wield it like a true master.” His arm folds around your shoulder now, squeezing you gently. “Promise me you’ll use it well.”

“I’ll only kill bad people and monsters!” you declare, your squeaky voice ringing with confidence and sincerity. Your brother laughs at that, full and genuine from his gut.

“That’s the spirit. Come on, let’s see if you can carry it.”

And you try, you try to lift the blade, the beautiful blade that strikes awe and adoration in your growing heart, and you fail. Your brother encourages you, shows you how to hold it without hurting yourself, how to draw it without falling over. It takes hours, but by the time the sun goes down, you believe with everything that you are that you will be the best swordsman in all of Ionia.

You go to bed exhausted, but you dream of greatness, of saving beautiful princesses from terrible demons. You dream of surpassing your brother in skill, of fighting beside him in some incredible war—brothers-in-arms in the truest sense. You dream, and your soul swells with pride and ambition. Before the sun touches the sky, you are out in the garden, cutting down orchids and invisible monsters with those same battle cries you hear from the warriors who train in the valley.

Your brother is exhausted when he calls you back inside, yanked from sleep by your charges. You tell him of your dreams, however, and he smiles. He smiles, and he ruffles your hair, and you adore and admire him with every fiber of your little body.

"I'll make you proud, Yone," you tell him, your voice as serious as it is squeaky. "I swear on my life—on my honor!"

And he smiles wider, warm and gentle, as much a father as he is a brother. "I know you will, little brother," he says. He shifts, settling next to you and folding his strong arms around your slim shoulders. "I know you will."

 

 


End file.
